


Half-Dozen Blues

by twoandfour



Category: Actor RPF, Loki - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Tomki - Fandom, frostpudding - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:44:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandfour/pseuds/twoandfour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six times Loki shows Tom his Frost Giant form. Some danger, quite a lot of rather suffocating fluff, attempts at humor, and a little smut (toward the end). Blue feels galore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-Dozen Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Walkin' Through This World Alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/514584) by [Batsutousai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai). 



> Inspirational credit given where it is absolutely due to batsutousai, for not only being the Captain of this ship (due to her superior fic-writing skillz), but for introducing Loki’s all-encompassing ardor for ice cream into my headcanon. Please go read her fic. All of it. If she’d have me, I’d marry her.

The first time Loki revealed to Tom his Jotun form, it was the second day of their acquaintance. Tom had discovered the prince, concussed and bleeding from his fall, curled up beside a skip, moonlight reflecting dully off of buckles and plates. He had somehow dragged Loki into a lift and then into his home, and proceeded to tend to his wounds as best he could. 

Loki recalled coming to consciousness with the sensation of something warm and wet gliding tentatively but purposefully over the naked skin of ribs, and glancing up, shocked (for once) beyond words, into cerulean pools of mercy. He thought he was dreaming. If the throb in his skull was any indication, he must be. This would be the desperately clinging vestiges of his soul granting him a long-forgotten (or never-remembered) pleasant final image. Before everything, everything, absolutely everything, went as black as the Void. He smiled a bitter smile before slipping back into the darkness.

But he had awoken, head in a much clearer space this time, to find those same blue eyes in that same (familiar but not familiar at all) face sweeping over him, concern and (was that?) empathy etched deep.  
Loki, broken enough to admit to even himself that he might require a modicum of aide, had allowed the fool to spoon broth into his mouth, shower him in soft bedding and fluff pillows behind his head, and wash and dress his rapidly healing wounds. He would have words with this mortal concerning the almost complete lack of surprise expressed at the aforementioned rapid healing. 

By the following afternoon, he’d healed enough to decide that he’d really taken all the ridiculous, naïve coddling he could handle, and made up his mind to show this sentimental, spineless sap of a Midgardian exactly what wickedness he’d brought down upon himself. 

Swinging his body so his feet met the floor, he pushed himself up to standing, and advanced upon the creature. Willing it so, he felt Odin’s glamour drop from his body, inch by inch, slowly, deliberately, skin fading from pale and pink to cold and azure, lines and whorls scrolling up in bas relief, ending in the whites of his eyes pooling to blood as he towered, glowering, over the blue-eyed man.

But the pitiful creature shocked him for the second time in his three millennia treading the Nine Realms by gasping and reaching out long, elegant fingers to trace a (despised) familial design, and whisper, “More beautiful than I ever imagined.”

\--------- 0~0---------

The second time Loki revealed to Tom his Jotun form, it had also been deliberate, and a direct attempt at intimidation. Loki had been recuperating at Tom’s “flat” for nearly two weeks. When pressed (against a wall with the heel of godly hand against his windpipe), Tom had revealed that he had been play-acting as Loki in a series of Midgardian films that were meant for entertainment, and that much of his own research had been done in regards to the god, which is how he had recognized not only the injured form outside of his lodgings, but was unsurprised at how quickly the wounds had tended themselves.

This particular evening found Loki in a rare mood for revelry, and he was regaling Tom with no more than slightly embellished tales of the days of his youth in Asgard. 

Tom wiped his eyes (again) and peered at Loki incredulously. “So… so, did you honestly tie that goat’s lead around your testicles and just walk away?” he breathed, eyes alight with mirth. 

Loki smirked and swept his hands in front of him in a noncommittal gesture. “What would you have had me do, Thomas?”

Tom dissolved into fresh peals of laughter, one hand attempting to reign in his belly as the other stifled noises from his mouth. “Oh, God… Christ!”

Loki took a breath, indignantly, as if to speak, and Tom held up his hands. “Just an expression, man,” he smiled. Then a note of genuine inquisitiveness crept into his features. He appeared thoughtful. “Do… do you really have children?” he asked, a bit breathless, as though the question had cost him something.

Loki tensed, but recognized the truthfulness and courage in the asking. He nodded, smiling, but allowing the briefest note of longing to infiltrate his tone. “I do.” He placed his palms on his knees and considered them. “They are… magnificent,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

Suddenly, he felt a warm, soft palm nestled against his, and Tom whispered, “If they’re anything like their father, they must be.” Loki jumped up as though a venomous snake had bit him. “You will not!” he screamed, towering above Tom’s head. “You know nothing!” He dropped his princely form more quickly this time, blue bursting from his blood vessels, enveloping his body, cycloning down his form, murderous red shooting through his eyes.

He raised himself up to his full stature, loathing every second of it, bile burning at the back of his throat, but determined to show this disposable mortal fool his place. The raised lines on his skin throbbed and danced to the rhythm of his rage.

Until he saw Tom looking up at him, one brow lifted in a wholly unimpressed fashion. The fool tugged at his hand. “All right. I apologize. That was a bit personal,” he offered, tugging harder. Then his brows knit and a grin speared his face as he peered up at Loki, tenderness and mischief warring for dominance. “Oh, come on, you great big blue drama queen…” 

Loki, all fight having left him (due to shock, obviously), dropped back down on the sofa and looked at his companion with new (suspicious) eyes.

\--------0~0--------

The third time Loki revealed to Tom his Jotun form, it was quite by accident. The sentimental idiot had taken it upon himself to show Loki some of the pleasures of his childhood. Apparently, that included a conical, edible structure filled with flavored, frozen cow’s milk. This particular flavor was called, if Loki recalled correctly, and he always did, “chocolate”. 

It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. The flavor was bitter and divine, the texture a gift, and the temperature… oh, by the Norn, the temperature. Every cell in Loki’s body responded to the gently frozen and creamy-cold nature of the treat. 

His pink tongue stole out to lick and lap at it. His lips wrapped around the summit of it, sucking, cheeks hollowing in single-minded pleasure. He felt a shiver undulate from the soles of his feet on up as he ran a flat tongue along the sides of the cone to catch any errant drips. He moaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head, wallowing in the sympathetic chill.

He was brought back to earth by the ever present sound of “Eheheheh.” He stole a murderous glance in the direction of the laugh and continued to lick at his beautiful frozen treat, eyes narrowed. 

“I thought you might like this,” the fool spewed forth. “Good thing I brought you back to the flat first, though.”  
Loki paused very shortly in devouring the icy deliciousness of his chocolate cream to raise an eyebrow in a condescending manner and wordlessly inquire.

Tom quirked up a lip. “Well, I only mean, you’re normally a bit sensitive when you’ve gone all blue.”  
Loki glanced down to find himself fully and thoroughly in his present state. He blinked, weighing acts of physical violence against potentially melted ice cream. This time- just this time, mind you- the ice cream won.

\---------0~0---------

The fourth time Loki revealed to Tom his Jotun form was the third night they’d spent in Tom’s bed kissing and nipping and sucking at each other. Tom was quivering and Loki thought he just might die. The sounds the mortal made… That guttural whine deep in his throat; the gorgeous grunt whenever a hand was applied to his obvious want. 

But they lay there, touching and whispering, aching and wanting, taking, but never enough. Lapping at each other, biting, breathing, almost revealing. Loki burned to punish Thomas for being previously unforthcoming in his desire, but couldn’t bring himself to lie that blatantly. 

Thomas had been acting a bit off throughout the day, though. Off even for him. Loki couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. He was the same beautiful, fragile idiot he always was… If anything, he clung more desperately and seemed a bit more defenseless. His kisses were always heated-but had become increasingly almost literally so… Loki pulled back and flicked concerned eyes over Tom’s flushed face.

Tom pulled closer, wrapping his arms around Loki’s waist. “Please,” he begged.

Loki attempted to pry him off. “You’re not well, Thomas,” he stated. 

“Yes, I am,” Tom murmured. “And you’re so… so cool. You’re like… Like a spring,” he managed. 

Loki smirked. “A spring, am I?” Tom hummed an affirmative and nuzzled closer. Loki wrapped long, cool fingers across the back of Tom’s neck and laid a refreshing kiss to his forehead. “Then I shall be your tree that bringeth forth his fruit in season; his leaf also shall not wither, and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper,” he murmured.  
Tom growled softly at childhood scriptures half-remembered, then collapsed against Loki with a whine. “So hot,” he whispered. “Cold, but hot.” And he was. Tom was a shivering, chattering furnace, his skin nearly burning Loki’s fingertips. Loki felt Tom’s body shudder against his own, and he felt a sudden pang of fear. Future-remembered loss. Can’t lose you. Won’t lose you, his brain supplied. He scooped the mortal’s body just a bit closer to his own.

Then he felt those eyes upon him. Those cyan orbs that rendered everything around them simplistic honesty. As Loki gazed into those eyes, they fluttered shut, weary. “Cool. Cool me,” Tom whispered. “I love you. You’re beautiful. Please… cool me.”

So Loki did just that. Fighting back the acid that threatened his throat, the memories that turned his soul to stone, he allowed the frigid cold to seep up into his skin. Wrapping his arms around Tom, pressing his body to his, seeking out his mouth and running icy fingers through his hair, he enveloped his lovely little mortal in all the frost he could manage without causing him further damage. 

After a while, Tom broke into a violent sweat, drenching both Loki and the bedding, then mercifully stilled, dozing in Loki’s arms.

Finally, after what seemed like years, during which time Loki longed to press frost-tipped fingers to a too-faint pulse but didn’t dare, Tom stirred. He instinctively pressed a kiss to Loki’s mouth and smiled up at him, amiably confused. “Thought you hated being blue? And why are we wet?” he whispered. 

Loki laughed, the crimson of fear and turmoil draining from his eyes. Maybe this form was good for something, after all. He had succeeded in keeping his mortal from harm. This realm would live to see another day. But they had better thank every god they had at their disposal. Because had it not been for this glass-fragile man and his absurd sympathies towards deities and monsters, and also for the god’s ability to restore him, Loki’s joy would’ve been made of their smoldering ruins.

\--------0~0---------

The fifth time Loki revealed to Tom his Jotun form, and the only time he deigned to reveal it to anyone else at all, was on a warm, clear summer’s night as they were walking back to Thomas’ flat. A few things were needed from the shops, and while Thomas had insisted he’d only be a moment, Loki had been bored, and so had accompanied him, a veil of invisibility drawn securely around his form.

Thomas had been entertaining Loki with somewhat lascivious tales of his wilder days in a city called Amsterdam (Loki was fairly impressed, not believing Thomas to have had it in him), when the honey-haired Midgardian had quite abruptly disappeared into the alley beside them with a cut-off cry of surprise.

Hurrying forward to follow, what met Loki’s eyes caused his blood to boil and burn in his veins. Two reeking, thick-browed mortals in dark clothing had Thomas pinned against the brick wall, a gleaming knife at his pale throat. 

“Talking to yourself, mate,” the taller one sneered as the dumpier one spat and shook his head. “I never did mind relieving a nutter of his wallet.”

The one not holding the knife swept his yellowed eyes down the length of Tom’s lanky frame and back up. “Wouldn’t mind relieving him of a bit more than that,” he uttered, voice like oil.

Thomas swallowed delicately against the blade’s edge, hands still out in front him, palms-up in a non-confrontational gesture. “Please, just take my wallet and go. I want no trouble.”

The knife-wielder chuckled, then froze, eyes draining of malicious glee and filling with terror as a voice behind them declared, “Oh, I rather think not. These two shit-ridden insects shall take nothing.”

Three pairs of eyes now intent upon him, Loki dropped his cloak, then summoned ice and rage onto his form. He shot forward, gripping the closest man’s head between his hands, intent on twisting the vile thing from his neck, even as the other man dropped the knife in a clatter on the stone and pissed himself, trembling.

“Loki.” The steadiness of Thomas’ voice stilled him, momentarily. “I’m unharmed. He doesn’t deserve to die.”  
Loki inhaled deeply and forced himself to look up into those sky-blue eyes. Tom smirked slightly. “Besides, if either of these two ever make it out of the psychiatric ward after tonight, it’ll be a miracle.”

Despite his seething rage, Loki allowed himself a small smile. Then, in a movement as swift as the wind, he grasped both men by their necks and slammed them against the alley wall. They gaped at him, one of them drooling, both already beginning the permanent break from conscious thought.

“Do not ever,” Loki enunciated very clearly, crimson pounding within the orbs of his eyes, “touch what is mine, again.”

The following morning, Tom was slightly more amused than he would ever admit to read a front-page article in the newspaper regarding the arrest and subsequent sectioning of two very wanted criminals- both with nasty records as long as his arm- who’d been found wandering a heavily populated stretch of road, screaming about “blue aliens” to whoever would listen.

\--------0~0---------

The sixth time Loki revealed to Tom his Jotun form, they were again lying in Tom’s bed. Tom had been idly smoothing his fingers over the planes of Loki’s pale chest, and, more to see if it could be done than anything else, Loki had begun letting whorls and lines of cool blue appear wherever Tom’s fingertips brushed his skin. 

Tom gasped and smiled, withdrawing his fingers and glancing up to gauge Loki’s expression. Loki merely raised an eyebrow and smiled contentedly back at him. 

Soon it became something of a chase. A flush of ridged blue would appear, and Tom would dive to chase it with his fingers, only for it to disappear and form again somewhere else. He tipped back his head, pink tongue pressed at the edge of his teeth, and laughed with pure delight, eyes sparkling.

Then he began tracking the trails of blue with his lips, pressing kisses along the path to the next spot. He followed that with light, tickling swipes of his warm, wet tongue, causing Loki to chuckle and squirm. When he followed a trail of frost along Loki’s clavicle and up the column of his neck to just beneath his ear, Loki’s breath hitched and he twined his fingers into Tom’s golden curls. 

Tom nipped at his earlobe, sucking it briefly before allowing it to ease slowly back out through his teeth. He kissed along the shell of Loki’s blue ear, running his hands lightly up his cool sides, and whispering, “Please, love. This time. Please let me touch you. I want to touch you.”

Loki shivered as much at the gust of hot, moist breath against his skin as he did at the words, themselves. He knew that Thomas would eventually want to escalate this aspect of whatever it was they were doing with one another… and truth be told, Loki wanted it very much, himself. Of course, he knew very well the reason he’d been holding off on anything other than heated kisses and playful groping in the dark. 

The Midgardian tales of Loki’s conquests throughout the millennia weren’t very far off the mark. He enjoyed sex. In many and varied and interesting ways. He enjoyed pushing boundaries and broadening horizons and his sexual orientation was almost unimaginable in breadth. 

But he had never loved a lover. Not truly. Even the couplings wherein his children had been conceived had been passionate, surely, but not loving. And now, here was this silly, smiling, baffling little mortal whose years were as a day for him… and he was rapidly threading himself inextricably into every atom of Loki’s heart. It was terrifying. The depth of what he was beginning to feel for Thomas was the most breathtakingly formidable thing Loki had ever come up against. 

Loki wrapped his arms around Tom and brought his head down to rest above his heart. Tom breathed deeply and stilled, allowing Loki to simply hold him this way, for a while. If he needed more time, Tom wouldn’t press him. This closeness would be enough. This now-easy intimacy and familiarity with the beautiful, broken god who had- completely inexplicably- chosen to let him in, even if just a little. 

Just as Tom thought it might be nice to pull the covers up around them both and drift off to sleep just like this, he felt himself being gently rearranged into a kneeling position on the bed, Loki’s body mirroring his, emerald eyes with universes in them turned upon his own.

Loki cupped his face in both hands and kissed him. Tom reciprocated, snaking his tongue out to tease at Loki’s lips. Loki groaned and granted him entrance, pulling him closer to grasp at his smooth, muscled back. Tom pushed himself up higher, sliding their upper bodies together- such lovely friction- and tilting Loki’s head back to deepen the kiss. 

Loki still toyed with the idea of saying no- there was still an out, here- but when he pulled back to look at Thomas, the expression that met his eyes was so open, so utterly content, that he knew it would be simply delaying the inevitable. Had there been an ounce of expectancy, even a glimmer of entitlement or assuredness… but there was none. There was only acceptance, readiness, wonder. Joy.

Loki’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into the sensation of Thomas caressing the line of his jaw with the pad of this thumb. Then he leaned forward to nip his earlobe, smiling as he felt Thomas’ pulse flutter, and whispered, “All right. But if you’re rubbish at this, I’ll snap your neck like a twig.”

Tom reared back and roared with laughter. Loki smirked and willed his heart down out of his throat and back into the cavity of his chest as the foolish mortal gently pushed him back down onto the pillows. He laid a sweet kiss, like a whispered oath, to the corner of Loki’s mouth, and whispered “I’ll do my best,” before laying a trail of sucking, open-mouthed kisses down his throat, to his abdomen- pausing to swirl and nip not-quite-gently at his navel- and ending at the juncture of his hip and thigh. 

Loki groaned and his hands flew to the back of Thomas’ head to hold himself steady as his heavy cock was enveloped in tight, wet heat. Thomas wrapped the eloquent fingers of one hand around the base of his shaft, the other reaching up to stroke patterns and circles of delicious heat into his belly, as he performed absolute magic with his mouth. Loki arched and writhed, tugged at Thomas’ hair by the roots, swore and bucked, but the mortal was relentless in his assault. 

Just when Loki thought he couldn’t possibly take anymore, and would surely be set aflame to burn in exquisite agony, Thomas took to swirling the flat of his almost unbearably hot tongue around the head of Loki’s cock at every upward sweep. 

For just one still, breathless moment, the world once again went dark. But it wasn’t the endless, empty dark of the Void; it was the dark of lying upon one’s back on sweet-smelling grass, gazing up the promise of a night sky. And then Loki was bucking and coming, cursing and laughing, painting the back of Thomas’ throat in thick ribbons, every drop of which his sweet lover milked like a man starved.

And then his idiotic mortal crawled back up the length of his body, smiling like the sun, and cradled him against his chest, rocking and soothing him as unbidden tears pooled in the hollows of the god’s cheeks.  
“I’ve got you. Shhh, love, I’ve got you.”

Loki exhaled on a shiver. “Fool,” he whispered.

Tom just smiled.


End file.
